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Verses of Idle Hours 



Verses of Idle Hours 

By 
O. CHESTER BRODHAY 



CHICAGO 

FREDERICK C. BROWNE 

1917 






COPYRIGHT, 1917. BY 
FREDERICK C.BROWNE 



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NOV -6 191? 



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CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Moore's Lane n 

My Ideal Face 17 

Rejoice , . jg 

Inspiration i^ 

The Evening Hour 20 

Children of No-Land 21 

June-Time 24 

Just AS OF Old 26 

A Morning at the Farm ..... 28 

Inconsistency 29 

The Sisters 30 

To Health 32 

Granny Tucker 33 

The Unfulfilled 37 

The Man— John Lynn 38 

An Allegory 40 

To THE Memory of Thomas Chat- 

terton 42 

God's Beneficence 44 

"Thanatopsis" Transposed • • • 45 

The Invisible Army 48 

The Way of Life ........ 50 



Vll 



PAGE 

Unrecognized 51 

An Ideal 52 

Spring Has Come 54 

In Our Back Yard 55 

Hidden Meanings 57 

The Old Swimming Pool 58 

The Old Schoolhouse 60 

Songs of a Vagabond 61 

A Day in Spring — Morning .... 63 

Noon 64 

Night 65 

The Despoiled Field 66 

On the Road 67 

Reward of Toil 70 

The Waning Year 72 

In Communion 74 

A Vision 75 

To an Ideal 76 

At the Dance 77 

A Memory 78 

The Law 79 

The Voice of Freedom ..... 80 

The Still Small Voice 85 

The Old, Old Story ...... 86 

Eileen 87 

Greetings 92 

Gladsome Yesterdays 93 



Vlll 



PAGE 

The Soul's Awakening 97 

Le Printemps 98 

A Summer Day 100 

Hope 102 

A Vacation Reverie 103 

An Old Romance 105 

The Master 108 

Mother Love no 

Reclaimed 112 

Meditation 114 

An Analogy 116 

At Close OF Day • . . 117 

The Outcast 118 

The Greater Wrong 119 

A Suggestion 120 

Regrets 122 

The Vanishing Race 123 

The Punishment 126 

A Fantasy 127 

A Desire 130 

Indian Summer Days ...... 131 

Dan Gray, Fisherman 134 

Stony Creek 136 

A December Morning 138 

Voices of the Past 140 



Verses of Idle Hours 
MOORE'S lane 

'TiS many years since here I stood 
Upon this once beloved place. 
Oh, what happiness if I could 
But find just one familiar trace 
To tell me 'tis the selfsame place 
Where years ago beneath that tree 
(Which now in fancy I can see) 
A little stream pursued its course 
So peacefully; while straight across 
There, sloping just a trifle up, 
A meadow full of buttercups, 
Upon whose banks of richest gold 
I would to heav'n my dreams unfold, 
Bask lazily in warm sunshine 
Happy as though the world were mine, 
With not a cloud to mar my dream 
Nor to obscure the perfect scene; 
Picturing all with keenest joy 
With the innocence of a boy; 
Painting life with the brush of youth — 



II 



Wonderful pictures of untruth, 

Which often mock and cheer when men — 

These were pictures I painted then. 

Many a castle, wondrous fair, 
Have I built and lived in there ; 
Great battles fought (I always won), 
Grand races planned (though never run). 
Fond hopes cherished and new ones born. 
And stately ships that braved the storm 
Were anchored there at dusk and dawn. 

Here, where the sweet rosebush grew wild 
And many dainty flowers smiled; 
Where love lay smiling at my feet, 
Yet where ne'er blush for blush need meet; 
Bewitching nature's face did charm. 
Bidding me rest and fear no harm. 
Birds in the meadow carolled long, 
Each sang to me its sweetest song; 
While music from some distant bell 
With languid rhythm rose and fell. 
Breathing peace and yet such longing, 
Rest at eve, fond hopes at morning. 

»And there beside that selfsame brook 
I 've stood for hours with rod and hook, 



12 



Watching the minnow and the roach j 

That shyly would my bait approach ; 

Scarcely daring to make a sound, 

Yet now and then I'd look around 

And gloat o'er those my can did hold 

More than a miser o'er his gold. 

Rich was I with little or naught, 

Happy because content in thought; 

Minutes were hours and hours seemed days, 

To cheer me in a thousand ways — 

The laughing brook that danced along, 

Welcoming me each night and morn; 

The hidden prizes in the stream ; 

The shining pebbles' golden gleam; j 

The sands I sifted 'tween my toes; | 

The floating bark that made canoes — I 

All seemed like jewels rare, yet free. 

Bright gifts that nature gave to me. 

Again I feel a boy's delight; 

The forbidd'n orchard seems in sight; i 

I see the cherry trees that spread 

Low to the ground their limbs of red, 

The blushing fruit that weighs them down 

Within fair reach of yonder ground; 

And apples, though half ripe they be» 



13 



With glowing cheeks are tempting me. 

My heart throbs, and I look around 

To see if I can spy the hound, 

Th' one that gave me many a chase, 

Proclaimed me thief o'er all the place. 

I think of all those summers past. 

The while my breath comes thick and fast. 

Halcyon days, that every boy 

Looks forward to with honest joy: 

Vacation days, with naught to do 

But mischief seek — and mischief rue. 

Ah, playgrounds of my early youth, 

Art disappeared in very truth ! 

But memory doth still o'erspread 

Time's ravages and all that's fled. 

Look yonder at the farther end 

Where the road makes a sweeping bend: 

Many, many's the time I've stood 

Within the shade of that old wood; 

Where hardy oaks with leafy spray 

And giant elms with limbs of gray 

Colossal arms uplifted high 

As if to reach unto the sky; 

Where not a sound would break the peace 

Nor mar the thought of perfect ease, 

Except it be a bird's sweet song 



14 



Which echoed now and then so long, 

Or the soft rustling of the leaves 

That shed the light like sand through sieves. 

'Tw^as here upon that well-knovi^n rock 
(Mem'ry recalls a moss-grow^n block), 
Where the glare of hot summer noon 
Was mellovsred as by light of moon, 
That oft I sat and watched the stream, 
Amid the yellow and the green, 
Pursue throughout the quiet day 
Peacefully its sinuous way, 
With naught to interrupt its course 
Except the cows that splashed across, 
In eagerness to seek the shade 
Which yonder lonely maple made. 

Westward where the evening sun 
Oft lingers on its journey done. 
Gray tombstones rise, like spectres tall, 
Behind a fast decaying wall; 
And oaks, with limbs that tower high, 
O'ertop them, dark against the sky. 
Below, upon the ground, great roots 
Form benches in the shady nooks. 
And grasses which the walks o'errun 
Hide the grave of many a one; 



IS 



Thick tangled ivy o'er the wall 

Climbs recklessly, defying all. 

Ants dig their houses here, and play 

Hide and seek through the livelong day, 

Undisturbed by the visitor 

Who once did trample down their door. 

Here mosses thick within the shade 

Hundreds of velvet beds have made; 

And acorns which the rains have sown 

To clumps of young oak trees have grown. 

Unruly nature in full sway 

Exhibits here her wild array; 

Revealing unto wayward man 

The workings of her mighty hand. 

But now, sweet dream, thou passeth by, 
And in thy place I but behold 
Above, a blue expanse of sky. 
Below, a scene that's drear and cold — 
Oh, for those happy days of old! 



i6 



MY IDEAL FACE 

Some like faces sweet and fair, 
Some with dark or golden hair, 
Some with eyes that sparkle bright 
With a joy that throws a light 
Upon features that delight. 

Some like faces with repose, 
Some a straight and clear-cut nose, 
With a mouth where firmness sits, 
Or, upon whose tempting lips 
Dainty sprightly Cupid flits. 

And so there are many more 
Which to name would only bore; 
But there's one to me so dear 
Whose name alone brings a tear 
Of fondest joy — my mother dear. 



17 



REJOICE 

In the morn of life, when heaven and earth 

are one, 
When fresh with fragrance are the woods and 

fields, 
When, dimpled with the smile of laughter. 
Every earthly living thing proclaims its joy; 
When gushing are the streams with merriment, 
And nature all around lies at thy feet, 
Jubilant with love, 

Then let thy pulses thrill 
With maddening delight; let loose thy soul, 
To wander at its will; chase its phantoms 
In the air with flighty wings — and dream, 

unmindful 
Of the clamor and the noise the outer world 
May make. Youth's melodies soon will fade, 

and then 
Will come no more this God-sent dream of bliss. 

Therefore today. 
Ere the hours slip from thee away upon the 
unseen hand of time. 



i8 



Dip deep thy cup into the bubbh'ng spring; 
Draw forth its cooling waters full to the very 

brim, 
And drink to what sweet memory may bring. 



INSPIRATION 1 

i 
O Soul, so splendid in thy sense of life, j 

Thy gift so grand, so wonderful, so true — ' 

Ennobled am I by my sense of Thee. j 

Thou art the One, the only Life Divine. ;j 

Within thy secret place most high to dwell, ) 

To soar to heights where mortal sense is still, : 

Where gratitude the aching voids fulfill. 
And all that once seemed good revives again. 1 



19 



THE EVENING HOUR 

The day is done, and o'er the crimson west 

A purple veil is descending; 
The silhouetted sky recedes from view, 

The swallow's shrill cry is ending. 

Hushed is the noise and turmoil that for hours 
Sped madly on — a brief respite, 

Like unto that which ofttimes precedes death. 
This interval 'twixt day and night. 

Blacker and blacker the shadows gather. 
Night hungers to o'erpower the day; 

Pale lights in the great firmament shimmer. 
Grow brighter, and then night holds sway. 

The stars, a vast innumerable host, 

Are blinking at the risen moon, 
And over all the shadowed earth below 

Gather wood-sprites with harps a-tune. 



20 



CHILDREN OF NO-LAND 

The knell of the day was sounded, as the red 

died in the west. 
The purple veil which dropped like a cloud 

levelled the mountain's crest; 
The foliage green in the sunlight a blackened 

mass became — 
Out of the deepening shadows the gypsy 

caravan came. 

Like wanderers from a desert seeking some 

promised land, 
Their wagons came lumbering onward, halted 

on the upland; 
Here in the cool of the evening, back from 

the dusty road. 
These wayfaring children of No-Land chose 

their summer abode. 

Horses were loosed from their breechings and 

led to a near-by spring; 
Axes, tents, and utensils were dragged from 

their covering; 



21 



They worked with clocklike precision, each 

knew what he had to do, 
Out of the weird chaotic mass system and 

order grew. 

A wood fire crackling with fury beat the family 
kettle black. 

Near by a woman, still youthful, scooped meal 
from a gunny-sack; 

An infant, seen at a distance, caressed a re- 
clining hound. 

The horses back from their watering stood 
stapled to the ground. 

And with the passing of meal-time there fol- 
lowed a brief respite; 

Young and old gathered together formed a 
family unit. 

Men sprawled out in careless freedom, a 
mother with child at breast. 

Her face aglow with happiness, as unmindful 
as the rest. 

Lights sputtered and flashed from lanterns, 
moonbeams filtered through the trees, 

A south wind rustled the foliage and sifted 
through the leaves; 



22 



A hoot-owl cried from the timber, its faint 

sigh died o'er the hill; 
The spirit of sleep shrouded the camp — all 

was peaceful and still. 



Oft in the long days of summer, when the turf 

is crisp and dry. 
When the hot blasts from the pavements 

reflect the heat from the sky, 
In the vast shade of that woodland, amid the 

cool verdure green, 
I picture again that gypsy band as in that 

twilight seen. 

Their long gray covered wagons, the horses 

unharnessed, near by, 
The tents dim in the moonlight, pointing 

arrowlike to the sky; 
The flickering stars in the heavens as they 

brighten one by one. 
The light of the camp-fire ashen, proclaiming 

the day is done. 



23 



JUNE-TIME 

There's a flutter in the treetops, as the wind 

steals through the leaves; 
I can see the branches swaying, nodding thanks 

to fragrant breeze. 
There 's a glowing warmth of sunshine playing 

wistfully on the green, 
Dancing now amid the shadows, stealing now 

away unseen. 

There's a lark's song in the meadow that 

ripples many a rod, 
I can hear its golden music floating out and 

up to God. 
There's a rustle in the bushes, just a flash, 

and it is gone — 
A denizen of the treetops flying swiftly to its 

home. 

There's a perfume from the grasses and a 

freshness from the leaves 
That stimulates with gladness and bears a 

breath of ease ; 



24 



There's a quiet sense of purpose in the brook 

that wends its way 
Through the woodland, over country, to the 

river far away. 

There's a something in the heavens that 
enchants the fields and hills. 

That breathes the quiet of freedom and a new- 
born hope instills. 

There's a something — and I wonder, can it 
be a violin ? — 

'Tis but Mother Nature blending all earth's 
sounds in one glad hymn. 



25 



JUST AS OF OLD 

When, in the stillness of calm, approaching 

night, 
Reposeful lies the brook, all day sparkling 

bright; 
When, sunk to rest in the hesperian sky, 
The sun is hidden, while yet the crimson dye 
Reflected from its cheek paints the clouds on 

high; 

When each little bird, its pleasant duty done, 
Has sought the quiet nook it fled from that 

morn; 
In the hush of evening I hear far away, 
'Mid the deep'ning shadows on the broad 

highway. 
Dear Mary's voice singing a sweet roundelay; 

Just as I used to hear in days long ago. 
When in the dewy eve homeward she would go 
With her cows from pasture, joyously along. 
Always, always singing through some old love 

song, 
Or some quaint, queer ditty, wholesome as the 

morn. 

26 



Pure, and as rich in tone, as some robin's note 
Came the sweet melodies from her birdlike 

throat; 
And the bright roguish face, full of childish 

glee, 
Beaming like the sun in June, cast over me 
A spell I could not resist — love's sv^eet 

witchery. 

What happy, happy days, gentle Mary dear! 
Memory has not failed me through many a year; 
Though you be no more my love, and I faraway, 
I can live them o'er again just the same today. 
And hear your voice singing on the broad 
highway; 

Just as I used to hear, in days long ago, 
When in the dewy eve homeward you would go 
With your cows from pasture, joyously along. 
Always, always singing the same old love song. 
Or some quaint, queer ditty, wholesome as 
the morn. 



27 



A MORNING AT THE FARM 

The dew lay wet upon the green 
And sparkled in the morning sun, 

And all the earth in song rejoiced 
With gladness for the day begun. 

The cattle in the fields, refreshed, 
Gave bold expression to mute sense ; 

The living instinct in the air 

Made merry with life's reverence. 

The birds that chirped beneath the trees 
Were calling to their mates to come, 

And every creature on the ground 
Seemed planning for a future home. 

The cock that claimed the barnyard fence 
From lofty throne his brood surveyed; 

From deep recesses of the barn 

The restless stabled horses neighed. 

The maid that bore the milk-pail home, 
With youthful glow and vigor came; 



28 



Her sparkling eyes and pink flushed face 
Upon some canvas would bring fame. 

When swift upon enraptured thought, 
That pictured this fair morn sublime, 

I felt the inconsistencies 

That crowd this mortal sense of mine. 



INCONSISTENCY 

How strange in life that those we dearest love 
Ofttimes we make the utmost strangers of. 
Ah, sad indeed, the greatest thoughts we think 
Are Hkewise thrown into the ocean depths. 
Perhaps some day, when mortal eyes see clear, 
Their beauty will be found to bless again. 



29 



THE SISTERS 

Oh, wipe away thy tears my child, and let me 

comfort you, 
For death and sunshine blend not well — I'll 

draw the curtains to; 
Come sit thee here and cry no more, her soul 

sees life anew, 
She needs no tears — why, sister dear, she's 

happier than you. 

The smile is still upon her face, she wonders 

why we cry, 
And if those lips could tell us now, she 'd say 

'tis sweet to die; 
She 'd mock us with her merry laugh, and show 

her dimpled cheek. 
And tease us in her girlish way — if she could 

only speak. 

Those roguish curls that still insist on falling 

o*er her brow. 
Ah, how they used to worry her — they don't 

annoy her now; 



30 



She heeds them not, and there they lie, un- 
moved e'en by a breath; 

What peace, what happiness, my child is this 
that man calls death. 

Within her snow-white hand I'll place this 

bud of early June, 
And you may take just one last kiss, before 

we leave the room. 
Now come, my child, come down the stairs 

and see the radiant sun, 
That smiles for you and me, my dear, until 

life's day is done. 



31 



TO HEALTH 

How bright thy smile, O joyful Life, when 

Health flows in one's veins. 
Thy vital spirit warms the earth and tempers 

e'en the rains; 
The deep blue of the heavens, that distantly 

sweep above. 
Glow with celestial visions and smile with eyes 

of love. 
Each breath of air that stirs the leaves wafts 

music to the soul, 
From every hillside, every wood, joyful echoes 

roll; 
Invisible wonders of thy joy greet with melody, 
And Nature, all aglow with life, blesses hu- 
manity. 

l'envoi 

So here's to Health, rich joyous Health, a toast 

to thee I give: 
That mankind may thee understand, know 

thee aright — and live. 



32 



GRANNY TUCKER 

Out upon Old Hickory Road, just half way 
from Gray's Wood, 

Backward a hundred feet or more from where 
the Road Pump stood, 

Where the great pines were tallest and blos- 
soming vines grew wild, 

Lived lonely Granny Tucker, the woman who 
never smiled. 

A strange pathetic figure, who hid her pale 

face from you 
Beneath a capacious bonnet, summer and 

winter too, 
No matter what the weather, or sunshine or 

rain, each day 
Old Granny with her pail of milk to town 

would wend her way. 

The children when they saw her near would 

cease their noisy play. 
With childish reverence and awe would bid 

her a ''good-day," 



33 



And as her spare form disappeared, there still 

seemed to remain 
The mystic presence of a soul misfortune 

could not tame. 

The cottage, like its owner, sought seclusion 

from mankind. 
Buried itself in the meadow where trees were 

thickly lined. 
When in the breath of morning the lighter 

foliage swayed, 
You caught a glimpse of chimney red or somber 

roof in shade. 

Again, at the close of twilight, when night's 

deep blackness spread 
Like a huge blot upon the dense foliage 

overhead, 
A pale light struggled feebly through the 

garret window-pane, 
And played like phantom figures o'er the dark 

and leafy lane. 

A single whitewashed structure, one story and 

attic high; 
A garden patch, some shrubbery, and a rude 

bench close by; 



34 



Wild grape smothered a poplar and ivy ten- 
drilled the door; 

A flagstone marked the threshold, worn white 
as the sand-swept floor. 

One day there came a stranger, with hardened 

face and ill-kept, 
Who sought out the roadside cottage after the 

town-folk slept; 
Who hid like a beast in the jungle safe in 

his retreat, 
Lost by baffled pursuers stealthily planning 

defeat. 

For days he lay there in ambush, unseen by 

those that passed 
In view of the roadside cottage with its 

benighted past. 
When weeks had gone, at intervals he ventured 

out at night, 
Slouched down the darkened byways, and then 

he was lost to sight. 

Soon suspicion travelled quickly: one often 

heard it said 
**He 's Granny's son who years ago committed 

theft and fled." 



35 



Many weird and grotesque stories circulated 

the town, 
Until one day the gossips learned he'd left 

for parts unknown. 

Soon after that poor old Granny grew feebler 

day by day, 
She came to town less frequently, then ceased 

to pass that way. 
And then Dame Gossip wondered, inquisitively 

inclined: 
A spinster sought the cottage, where the trees 

were thickly lined. 

One glorious autumn morning, the sun, a ball 
of gold. 

Painted red the blushing maples upon the hill- 
side cold; 

The grass, still green in the meadow, recalled 
the June days gone, 

Larks caught the spirit of sunshine and echoed 
it in song. 

There, in its ominous silence, screened from 

the passer-by. 
Stood the old whitewashed structure one story 

and attic high. 



36 



But the garden patch lay wasted, dead vines 

half hid the door — 
Across that flagstone threshold poor old 

Granny passed no more. 



THE UNFULFILLED 

Teach me, Life, thy hidden meaning- 
What is all this worldly lore ? 

What is all this mortal seeming, 
Vain desiring, more and more ? 

Earth has surely blessed us richly, 
Yet our hopes are unfulfilled ; 

All the world receives the sunshine. 
Longing thoughts will not be stilled. 

Joy and sadness seem so kindred 
We mistake them ere we know. 

And desires seem to lead us 

To the hilltops where they grow. 






37 



THE MAN— JOHN LYNN 

A ROUGH-HEWN shack, seared by the wind and 

storm's distress, 
Forlorn but resolute it stands, the one witness; 
A counterpart of him who sought its veiled 

precinct, 
This sturdy man, of rugged mien and strong 

instinct. 

A free retreat for one who led the freer life. 
Who chose to dwell 'mid nature's haunts, 

devoid of strife; 
Regarding not the pride of men, nor ties, nor 

blood ; 
His chief possessions were a gun, an axe, a dog. 

He knew no want, no anxious thought — he 

was supplied; 
His storehouse was the wood, the stream, the 

broad hillside. 
He loved all creatures, and he loved his own 

Hfe well, 
He killed to eat, but ne'er to barter nor to sell. 



38 



His motto was: ''Despise no man; don't curse 
your luck — 

The meanest cur sometimes will show thor- 
oughbred pluck. 

Break not the law whose banner reads * Clean 
hands, play fair.' 

Be not like sheep that follow one that knows 
not where. 

"Waste not your words, restrain your tongue 

from ridicule. 
Seek not the housetops to proclaim yourself 

a fool." 
And carved upon the weathered door, we read, 

**JoHN Lynn. 
No stranger ever came to knock— my friend, 



39 



AN ALLEGORY 

Two tender little blossoms grew beside a 

babbling brook; 
And just the other side of it an ugly, big old 

bush 
Spread itself, and cared not if the other flowers 

around 
Could find one tiny, airy spot beneath there 

on the ground 
Where they might drink the soft cool breeze 

and sunshine from above, 
Joyously greet the azure sky, and offer up their 

love. 

But patiently they waited, and in meekness 

offered prayer; 
While just beside them neighbor bush made 

sport of their ill-fare. 
He thought, **Why should I offer thanks for 

everything that 's free 
To those who have the right good sense to 

enjoy it, hke me; 



40 



And why this need of fretting oneself with all 

these whims 
Of penitence and prayers for pleasures they 

call sins?" 

But like all other wordly fools that laugh at 

what is good, 
He learned a lesson very soon — 'twas only 

just he should: 
There came a gardener through the grove 

who walked beside the brook; 
Not taking heed, o'er bush he fell, and with 

an angry look 
He tore it up and in the road this selfish thing 

he threw, 
While th' blossoms, by the grace of God, to 

lovely flowers grew. 



41 



TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS 
CHATTERTON 

[Thomas Chatterton was born in Bristol, England, November 
20, 1752. He went to London in April, 1770. Reduced to ex- 
treme destitution, he committed suicide. His Howley poems, 
which he said were translations from the writings of a monk 
of the fifteenth century, have been the subject of much discus- 
sion. He wrote " The Tragedy of Aella," " The Battle of 
Hastings," "The Tournament," and several shorter poems.] 

O SOUL immortal! 

Blessed beyond the skies with what this earth 

So cruelly denied thee, art satisfied 

With thy etherial abode ? 

Free as the air, unchained, untrammeled 

By the mighty host that with a rod of iron 

Rules this earth, thy spirit now must be 

Subservient to thy God alone. 

At peace with self and all earth's sordid 

Trials and cares; living ever on and on. 

Singing to some unseen host the songs 

Proud mortals would not hear; 

Devoid of passion, pain, and misery; 

No hungry lips, no aching brain. 

No sad remorse or conscience' restless sting. 



42 



Or aught that's forged in mortal's chain of Hfe, 
Thou art delivered from them all. 

But oh , how dearly bought! with thy young Hfe, 
So rich and full of promise; lavishly 
Endowed by Nature with her gifts of Genius; 
And all laid low upon the bosom of 
Thy Mother Earth, by thine own hand, 
In thy vain struggle with despair; 
Without one kind imploring voice raised 
To stay that sentence thou did'st welcome 
Because of grim starvation. 

Poor Chatterton ! the more 's the pity, 
For thy blood doth stain humanity's name; 
Dyed deep it lies, upon the history of thy time 
Indehble, to the end of all mankind. 



43 



GOD'S BENEFICENCE 

The Peace of God is present in the light 
That sheds its rays o'er widespread earth 
and sea; 

The Peace of God is in the sombre night, 
And comes alike in joy or gloom to me. 

The Joy of Life reflects itself in all, 

And speaks to me in everything that lives; 

The Joy of Life is in the sternest call, 

And seen in that which nature takes or gives. 

The Strength of Faith can never dim nor sway 
In any seeming discords that appear. 

For Faith in Truth is but another way 
To find new joy in what we see and hear. 

The Hope of Love, the greatest gift e'er given. 
That burns the dross from every mortal life; 

The Hope of Love, the very breath of heaven, 
That banishes all earthly woe and strife. 



44 



"THANATOPSIS" TRANSPOSED 

To HIM who loves all life, and knows 'tis God, 
Oh, what a wealth of Infinite Knowledge 
Is revealed. He holds the charmed rod that 
Takes the sting from out the serpent's mouth 
And heals the sinful sense of self-inflicted 

wounds. 
When darkness like a pall causes thee to 

shudder, 
And tempting thoughts of fear hang like 
Threatening clouds across thy horizon ; 
Turn erring thoughts away from mortal self. 
Let Infinite Mind, the One Intelligence, 
Illumine thee with truer thoughts of life; 
To know that earth is but a stepping-stone 
To higher things. 

The still small voice that says to thee * 'fear not" 

Shall prove thee one with Life's eternity. 

Just a little while, and the sun 

Shall be no more thy light by day, 

Nor shall the moon o'er darkness shed its ray, 

For God, the One Divine Intelligence, 

Shall be the light thereof. 



45 



The Adam dream of life 
Shall be resolved to dust again and lost 
Each mortal trace, surrendering thme own 
False sense, to be condemned to nothingness. 
Grand potentates of earth that worship power, 
And those that follow the ignoble train, 
Shall all be levelled to one common plane 
And be redeemed through Mind's enHghten- 

ment. 
The trees thatshelterthee from heat and storm, 
That add much beauty to this earth you know; 
The brooks that play throughout the quiet 

woods, 
And soothe the feverish sense with harmony; 
The hills that give a lofty thought to things. 
That rib themeadowswiththeiroaksand pines, 
Are emblems of this One and Only Mind. 

These shall you see again some day, not as 
You see them now through darkened thought. 
But clothed in GodHke grandeur— all for Man. 
The multitudes that tread this earth are but 
A mite to that vast host that lives unseen. 
Go where thou wilt, away to desert plains 
Or barren soHtudes of arctic lands. 
Life is there. Since first the ebb of time began 
The vanity of human kind has reigned. 



46 



Pursuing pleasures that but phantoms proved; 
And each upon his way must leave behind 
The cherished things that to this earth would 

bind. 
The babe cannot remain a babe forever, 
To hide itself upon its mother's breast; 
Nor should the maid be curtailed at expectancy. 
Impartial is the hand that gives all time, 
And stamps the present with eternity. 
All the innumerable tribes that 
Have passed the portal of this mortal dream 
(Beyond the veil of unenlightened thought) 
Are no more privileged than you and I, 
For all must realize that Life is God, 
The One IntelHgence, the only Power. 



47 



THE INVISIBLE ARMY 

What voices these, likewhispers from the dead, 
Come floating from stars shining overhead? 
What music this, that charms in spite of woe, 
That makes my pulses thrill, my heart to glovv^ ? 
What choir's singing praises to God on high? 
What means this sombre light? — dark is the 
sky. 

Struck dumb I stand vi^ith admiration bound, 
While through the dark wood comes a rum- 
bling sound 
As of an army, from some foreign land, 
Marching, marching swiftly to music grand, 
Never, never nearer, though ever nigh. 
Lighted but by stars twinkling in the sky. 

Hark! Now they come with madness in each 

breath — 
Can their sudden fury portend quick death ? 
Now it slackens; as by some given word 
Each one halts quickly, not a sound is heard. 
What means it? Is it trickery or distress? 
This appalling quiet — all things motionless. 

48 



I know not what — for lo! they start again, 
Their queer mancEUvres rise and fall the same; 
The marching to weird music of their band, 
The tramping and the rumbling o'er the land; 
The mad, furious rushing as to death; 
And after — deep silence, and night's soft 
breath. 



49 



THE WAY OF LIFE 

Hear ye the cry 
That breaks upon the stillness of the morn? 

And know ye why? 
'Tis the voice of a soul that has been born, 

This fateful morn, 

To live — then die. 

To drink Life's cup — 
An unknown portion forced upon those lips — 

To the last drop, 
Whose contents it must drain, as it now sips, 

With paining lips. 

Each living drop. 

Bitter or sweet, 
It matters not; inevitable now 

As Death's grim sleep 
Is Life: with joy and sadness it may flow, 

Or soon ebb low 

Again, in sleep. 



50 



What e'er its fate — 
Life long or short as measured by the years — 

*Tis now too late 
For sad repining, for shedding our tears, 

Or voicing fears — 

Closed is the Gate. 



UNRECOGNIZED 

Our greatest thoughts are seldom known. 
They come, and swiftly pass from sight, 
Like meteors flashing 'cross the night, 
Unmindful, and we wonder why — 
It was God's presence passing by. 



51 



AN IDEAL 

Rose-tinted, hued by the kiss of love; 
Blushing pink, where life's breath still lies 
Dewy wet upon thy lips; I see it there 
Reflected on thy cheeks, painted by an angel's 

hand. 
As fragrant as a perfumed breeze 
Blown from out a hyacinth's bed; 
As modest as the first shy glance 
Of the morning's sun upon a placid stream; 
Rest and peacefulness in every thought of thee; 
A calm ethereal happiness that knows 
Not earth nor man, no noon or night but 

always morn; 
Music that charms the soul to sleep, 
And soothes each weary sense to rest; 
That wipes away the sting of bitter thoughts. 
And binds the wounds of harrassed flesh. 
Thy breath, like perfume to foul air, 
Doth ever come when suffocation 
Seems inevitable. 

Never was mortal richer blessed than I, 
The worshipper of thy soul. The bee that sips 



52 



The honey from the flowers knows naught so 

sweet, 
Or half so pure, as one short moment in thy 

presence. 
Thou whom I behold with closed eyes alone. 
The richest gift that e'er to man was given. 
Art mine to love on earth and cherish in heaven. 
Buried deep within my heart I guard thee 
With a miser's care. Till mortal flesh, released 

from bondage, 
Weary of the ties that bind me to this life, 
Seeks a higher sphere in which to dwell. 
Then alone will I wait to be delivered unto 
That heavenly host, where, stripped of mortal 

garments soiled, 
Free and immaculate, I will stand 
Face to face with a soul I knew on earth to be. 
But could not find. 



53 



SPRING HAS COME 

Spring has come! and with its budding 
Bud the hopes of new-born joys; 

Spring has come! and with its coming 
Live the hopes that Hfe enjoys. 

Spring has come! and with its coming 
Songs we hear from every tree ; 

Spring has come ! and with it beauty, 
Born to bless both you and me. 

Spring has come! with glad awak'ning 
Life peeps forth from bladed sod; 

Spring has come ! the whole world knows it, 
Every instinct proclaims God. 



54 



IN OUR BACK YARD 

In spring the blossoms, white and gold, 
Their baby-faces, manifold, 
Smiled down from lofty heights o'erhead 
And their refreshing fragrance spread 
O'er our back yard. 

In spring the tiny shoots peeped forth; 
The gravel walk from south to north 
With tender spirals (pale green threads) 
Was sentinelled by myriad heads 
In our back yard. 

Beside the fence the violets bloomed, 
All day bees o'er the blossoms crooned, 
And when the evening shadows fell 
I lingered in the peaceful spell 
Of our back yard. 

In spring I'd plan for summer near. 
Watch the dull schooldays disappear, 



55 



Oft test the strength of our new swing, 
Picture what the summer would bring 
In our back yard. 

And when July's sun cast its heat 
Upon pedestrians on the street, 
I'd lazily enjoy the shade, 
And wonder how this world was made, 
In our back yard. 

When summer showers earthward sped 
I sought protection in the shed; 
Climbed high upon the big woodpile 
And watched the clouds roll mile on mile 
O'er our back yard. 

And as the hot days ripened corn. 
Matronly August came along 
With peaches twice the size your fist. 
Blushing deep red by sunshine kissed. 
In our back yard. 

When grave September claimed its own 
I grieved for th' loved summer flown; 
The roses drooped, the leaves fell dry. 
There seemed a sadness in the sky 
O'er our back yard. 



56 



With summer gone, vacation o'er, 
I loved that playground more and more ; 
And as I planned for w^inter near 
I wished that spring might soon appear 
In our back yard. 



HIDDEN MEANINGS 

S-W-I-S-H, s-w-i-s-h — thus beat the waves upon 

the shore; 
Restless in their wild persistence, 
Constant in their craving more. 

S-w-i-s-h, s-w-i-s-h — worldly voices ever crying. 
Ever noisy in imploring, 
Born in craving and desiring. 

Thus throughout the mortal dreamland 
Come and fade the thoughts we think, 
Voices ever keyed to action, 
Then into oblivion sink. 



57 



THE OLD SWIMMING POOL 

How well I remember the old swimming pool, 
On hot afternoons, quiet and cool, 
A pool of water clear as the sky, 
Fed by a brook that babbled near by. 

Ah, well I remember how swiftly we'd dive 
Straight to the bottom and there count five, 
Bob to the surface with eyes of joy. 
Sputter of conquest — dare any boy. 

How well I remember, one vacation morn, 
We all agreed to be up at dawn; 
How I lay awake through the long night 
Watching to catch the first gleam of Hght. 

How well I remember I tiptoed the floor. 
Quietly crouched with ear to the door, 
Listening intently; when satisfied. 
Downstairs, half clad, dad's commands defied. 

How well I remember our first morning's lark; 
In the semi-light the pool seemed dark. 



58 



Stripping off our clothes, the first undressed 
Plunged in head-first followed by the rest. 

How well I remember, when I arrived home 
Mother was anxious, waiting alone; 
Instead of something I thought I'd get 
I saw a smile, a look of regret. 



59 1 



THE OLD SCHOOLHOUSE 

The old schoolhouse upon the hill, 
How oft' I've heard that rhyme ; 

Yet my schoolhouse is standing still 

Upon the selfsame terraced hill, 
More picturesque with time. 

Its broad facade of reddish brick 

A deeper hue has grown ; 
Outlined windows with ivy thick 
Reveal nature's wonder trick 

In such a wondrous gown. 

Two flights of stairs of six steps each 

Lead to the entrance way. 
Where young maidens I romped with teachj 
And strange faces I would beseech 

To smile at me today. 

But where are Tom and John and Ned, 

To join me in my play ? 
Memory tells me John is dead ; 
But as for Tom, and grand old Ned — 

Just idle thoughts today. 



60 



SONGS OF A VAGABOND 

A RAGGED vagabond am I, adrift on Life's 

great sea, 
Never a kind wrord comes my w^ay, no one e'er 

cares for me; 
A wretched mortal to behold, accused by all 

mankind, 
''The scum of earth," 'tis often said, and 

vs^ell, I have opined; 
And yet I question if 'tis true, in w^eighing pro 

and con. 
That v^rhat makes the real man is the raiment 

he puts on. 
The things he proudly calls his ov^rn, that are 

no part of him. 

The biped w^ith commanding mien vsrhom we 

so often meet. 
Whose grip we feel upon our throats, strutting 

along life's street. 
Or he vi^ho v^^ith vi^ell-fed content ne'er knows 

of want or woe. 
But glides into the harbor calm before the 

stifiF winds blow. 

6i 



I know them all for what they seem, and what 

they really are, 
And, knowing, feel no envious sting; no subtle 

thought can mar 
The greater license I enjoy — the world belongs 

to me. 

To you intrenched within four walls and 

stifled overhead. 
Who count yourselves a happy lot, living amid 

the dead, 
To you, deceived by wealth and fame, ensnared 

by pride and greed, 
Before your altars, long defiled, I know 'tis 

vain to plead. 
And so I sing my songs to Life, to every bird 

and tree ; 
Beneath the broad and open sky, farther than 

eye can see, 
The herald of glad tidings comes, and blesses 

earth and me. 

Each morning brings to me its dawn, its sun- 
shine or its rain; 

A varied picture I behold — its message very 
plain; 

Rich with the beauty of rare gems sparkles 
the field and hill, 



62 



With plastic coloring the sky, in every hue 

a thrill; 
And all throughout the day I go o'er country 

far and wide, 
Wherever fancy leads me, there at nightfall I 

abide, 
In care-free rest I soon forget hunger and 

weariness. 



A Day in Spring 
Morning 

The spring has come, and all sweet budding 

things 
Are peeping forth with faces shining bright ; 
The smell of pungent earth is in the air; 
The sky turns gray-blue in the sun's strong 

light. 
The blades of tender grass I trample down 
Reproach me in a most appealing way; 
Upon the fence-post, where all eyes can see, 
A robin voices praises of the day. 

Within the freshness of the early morn. 
Bathed in the beauty that the light has brought. 
The purity of earthly things is seen 
In the hallowed sense of uplifted thought. 



63 



I feel so thankful for the warm sunshine, 
The ever-changing beauty of the sky, 
I now forget the hardships of my life 
And feel but peace and sweet tranquility. 



Nt 



oon 



The world is one bright dream today. 
And whispers to me hope and joy; 
The sun in all its radiance shines, 
The same as when I was a boy. 
I cannot tell you what it is. 
This something that transforms the earth. 
That warms the cold sod under foot 
And to transcending thoughts gives birth. 

A smile of friendship everywhere 
Unites mankind in one proud race, 
Changing the hard ignoble thoughts 
To something more than commonplace; 
That elevates our carnal sense 
To higher thoughts of self than shame. 
And like the breath of spring revives 
What bitter coldness cannot claim. 



64 



Night 

Out in the friendly field I lie, with eyes fixed 

on the sky, 
Counting the stars that blink and flash like 

diamonds up so high. 
And as I look, with thoughts intent, to solve 

life's mystery, 
These myriad sparkling hosts of night seem 

living souls to be. 

The history of ages past is here for all to read, 
Recording good and misspent lives, that all 

may know and heed ; 
Illumined with the spark of love, unchiding 

in appeal, 
Beckoning ever to the world, with an untiring 

zeal. 

And as mankind, since time began, is here in 
splendor bright. 

And as the stars with piercing eyes look down 
through darkest night 

Into the hearts of mortal men, derelicts, mis- 
taken, 

They see the same vast struggling tribe love 
can not awaken. 



6s 



The Despoiled Field 

I labored in the field today — 

At break of dawn work was begun; 

We shocked the wheat until high noon, 

Under a hot relentless sun. 

Great waves of heat rose from the earth 

Like active spirit things released; 

A hush hung o'er the midday hour, 

All labor in the fields had ceased. 

The grass along the hillside lay 

Crisp and sear as a baker's bun; 

The cows that browsed there in the morn 

Had deserted the cattle run; 

Only the sound of rustling grain 

As the heat of the sun beat down; 

No living thing the eye could see, 

To the forests the birds had fliown. 

How merciless, severe, unkind 

These earthly elements can be ! 

I questioned what mankind had done 

To merit such severity. 

My thoughts rebelled at man's sad lot — 

This sowing, toiling, harvesting — 

For human wants are petty things, 

111 desired, vain, distressing. 



66 



This sacrifice I weigh today 

It mocks me as a fool's attempt; 

I think of many yesterdays, 

Of childhood days in hardship spent. 

Friends and kindred I scarce recall, 

I hunger for some kindly face — 

To me what means this harvest time 

But fields made barren and laid waste. 



On the Road ^ 

] 

The hours dragged painfully today, as slow as \ 

dripping glue. 
Hunger gripped me with its fangs and to me i 

all things looked blue ; i 

There wasn't enough of sunshine left to fill j 

an old tin can — ] 

Humanity, as seen by me, was a barbarian. i 

j 
I started wrong by asking alms — and miscal- j 

culated ; j 

The indignities heaped on me sorely irritated. 
I kicked the dust upon the road for two long j 

miles or more. 
Then sat me down beside a creek, and took ! 

a drink, and swore. i 



67 



My thoughts went back to other days to 
brighter days of youth, 

To teachings of the better Hfe taught in the 
Book of Truth. 

I still recalled one story well — I never shall 
forget 

The first time that I heard it read, how bit- 
terly I wept. 

How a Pharisee and Sinner to temple went 

one day, 
And there within its sacred walls both stood 

up to pray. 
The Pharisee informed his god, in some 

strange land afar, 
That he was thankful that he was not as 

other men are — 

Extortioners, adulterers, or as the Publican, 
And gloried in the thought he was so good 

and just a man. 
The Publican, with head bent low, but smote 

upon his breast, 
Cried out to God to mercy show — the Sinner 

he confessed. 

Remorseful thoughts and bitter ones en- 
wrapped me all too soon, 



68 



Transformed the brightness of the sun to a 

dull murky noon. 
The clouds that gathered overhead looked 

threateningly at me; 
I saw the toilers in the fields, alert, like men 

at sea. 

A suddn clap of thunder warned — rolled 

grumblingly away, 
And ere the cock's crow spent itself, faded 

the light of day; 
A blackened roaring mass o'erhead showered 

its missiles down, 
With wind-swept fury hurried on, o'er field 

and hill and town. 

All day the lowering clouds dispelled half- 
blinding misting rains. 

All afternoon, in storm-drenched clothes, I 
trudged through soggy lanes. 

And travelled far o'er heavy roads to town — 
five miles by rail — 

Where I might earn some food, and then for- 
get earth's sad travail. 



69 



Reward of Toil 

Today I sawed a pile of wood, 
It must have been a cord or more! 
And when I ripped the last piece through 
My weary arms and legs felt sore. 
Yet something in that heaping pile 
Renewed a certain strength within; 
It bore the thought of self-respect — 
Left peace where bitterness had been. 

How good to hold within your hand 

The just reward for labor done! 

Perhaps you 've never felt this blest 

Emotion of the lowly one. 

I looked across the spacious yard 

To barns that told of lives well spent — 

The efforts of efficient years, 

A wonderful accomplishment. 

Along the dusty road a boy 
Was driving cattle homeward bound ; 
The wayward ones he held at bay 
With sticks and stones that he had found. 
Across the kitchen threshold came 
The comely housewife needing wood; 
With apron full she soon returned — 
A splendid type of womanhood. 



70 



The slanting shadows on the green 
Grew longer while I stood out there; 
The sun lay trapped behind a veil, 
A faint chill crept upon the air; 
The swallows whisked by overhead, 
And recklessly they ventured nigh ; 
From out the blackened chimney rose 
A ribboned stream against the sky. 

The vast denuded fields of grain 
Bespoke of harvests gleaned and stored; 
The forests and the distant plains, 
Untilled and many unexplored, 
Like distant voices in the night 
Were calling unto me to come — 
"The persevering win the fight, 
No weak or fickle ever won!" 

This voice traversed the span of years 
Through blood of ancestry to me. 
With strong conviction plead its cause 
And spoke with marked sincerity. 
I saw the weakling that I was, 
A blinded victim of caprice, 
Convinced that to pursue my way 
Would lead me to a precipice. 



71 



The Waning Year 

When darkness closed a long, long day, 
I sought again an old familiar shed 
Where I might lie within the quiet there, 
And rest my body and my aching head. 
Thewind howled mournfullyaround theshack, 
The flying clouds obscured the star-Ht sky; 
r squeezed myself into a hidden space, 
Unmindful of October's doleful sigh. 

I sank at once into a restless sleep, 
With broken spells of worry and unrest, 
Half conscious of a fretful, barking dog 
That persisted my presence to protest. 
Close to the door he poked his nose and 

growled 
And sniffed the air, this very wise Airedale — 
I knew him well, and when he heard his name 
He came to me wagging his stubby tail. 

Though weary and discouraged with my lot, 
My heart responded to my oldtime friend; 
If human beings were but half so kind 
The heartaches of this life would surely end. 
Life in my eyes was one long pilgrimage, 
A struggle with the sins existence brought; 



72 



I wondered in my own bewildered way 
What selfish hand these heavy chains had 
wrought. 

I sought the meaning of these craving 

thoughts, 
The constant yearning for some recompense, 
The emptiness of all these earthly hopes 
That brought me only shattered confidence. 

My thoughts recalled congested city streets, 
The coming hardships with the summer done, 
The long cold nights that crowded shortened 

days — 
I bade old haunts good-bye with rising sun. 



73 



IN COMMUNION 

Silent, secluded, behind a rugged wall, 
Like a stubble partly hidden in the grass, 
Stands the old house, a deserted banquet hall, 
Where leafy oak trees, majestic, sombre, tall. 
Screen the glaring dusty road from view 
And add sweet coolness to the heat of noon. 
Here I Hngered upon one summer day. 
And flicked the weeds that in abundance grew; 
And as I crunched the mossy bricks 'neath foot, 
The stillness of the place grew denser still, 
And reached the zenith of oppression. 

Here once again I sip the nectar of old days, 
Here watch the sunbeams as they dart across 

the green 
Likedaring, prancing nymphs in a web of haze. 
To spend themselves like breakerson the shore. 
And looking far into the distant fields of grain, 
Rolling ever nearer Hke an undulating sea, 
I feel the mighty hand of Life revealed. 
And recognize infinitude in God's name. 



74 



A VISION 

I STAND upon a threshold, from whence I 

behold 
The lightofunseenday; golden sunbeams chase 
Each other hither and thither, and falling upon 
A fountain's spray, blossom with prismatic 

coloring; 
The dewy mist adds freshness to the perfumed 

air, 
The healthy glow of life intoxicates. 
From every hand the most exquisite music 

emanates, 
And as it falls with silvery rhythm upon my ears 
I see the heavenly choir, as one grand mighty 

soul, 
To which my humble spirit seems attuned. 



75 



TO AN IDEAL 

I HEAR the music of thy voice, 
It charms with touch divine ; 

To me it sounds like some lost chord, 
Or grand poetic rhyme. 

It w^hispers in the darkened hour, 
When life seems sore distressed; 

It comes w^hen in the grind of toil 
I find myself oppressed. 

It stills w^hen vain desires would sway, 
It beats temptation down ; 

It lifts to heights from whence I see 
The glory I would own. 

It conquers where else I would fail, 

Assures the better thing; 
Ennobles by its pure desire. 

Uplifts by vanquishing. 

It brings a peace of other days 

Of days that are to come ; 
It ripples down the path of time, 

And breathes of God's will done. 



76 



AT THE DANCE 

A TREMBLING of the violin, 

A few notes from the flute; 
The harp and clarionet join in, 

The drum till now so mute 
Strikes boldly, as the proud cornet 

Soars high above the strain — 
A look, a word, and in my arms 

I hold my love again. 

I feel the flutter of her heart, 

Her breath upon my cheek; 
The perfume from her golden hair — 

Ah, worldly cares grow weak. 
I hear the music of her soul, 

A melody divine, 
And through the mazes of the dance 

Her spirit gHdes with mine. 



77 



A MEMORY 

Thou cam'st to me again today, 

In full-orbed glory, as of yore ; 

With smiles of youth and sweet content, 

And roguish eyes 'pon pleasure bent, 

And as I heard thee call my name 

My startled thoughts cried out "Elaine! 

And when I clasped thee in mine arms 
The earth clouds seemed to fade away ; 
I dreamed that heaven had opened wide, 
That I was swept on with the tide. 
And visions until then unknown 
Were crystallized into mine own. 

I saw thee then as ne'er before ; 
My Queen that thou hast always been. 
Unfolding, as a budding flower, 
New grace and beauty every hour ; 
And hallowed in more serious thought 
Thy love a thousand fancies brought. 

The glories of those golden days 
Make rich this aftermath of years, 



78 



With youth that breathes to me of spring 
And makes this hour a blessed thing : 
That life should still unfold to me 
The grace of such a memory. 



THE LAW 

A VOICE is calling from the hilltops, "Come! " 
It bears a message in the quiet hour; 
I hear it in the hush of midnight sleep ; 
It comes tomewhen clouds o'er noonday lower, 
When pleasures make the foolish senses weak. 

It ever bids me, ever urges, "Come!" 
It never falters in its strong appeal ; 
It never wearies, though I turn away — 
As constant as the very breath I feel. 
It is the Law of Life — and I obey. 



79 



THE VOICE OF FREEDOM 

Truth came to Youth andwhisper'd in his ear 
And called to him, "Awake, for I am here." 
And Youth, still drowsy, rubbed his eyes and 
blinked, 

A bit perturbed 

To have his rest disturbed. 

And, with a scowl upon his brow, inquired: 
"And who art thou — what was it you desired?" 
And Truth, all active, instantly replied: 

"Love me and live, 

A thousand joys I give. 

"Health, Strength, and Wisdom, Love and 

Chastity, 
Of all my gifts, the last is Charity ; 
Her face is plain, but on her head 
(Lest thou forget) 
A diadem is set." 

And, as Youth hstened to the wonders told, 
His eyes grew eager and his manner bold ; 



80 



He counted all his gains, and ill replied: 
"Behold and see 
The talents I bring thee." 

And Youth went on ungratefully to state 
Gross vanities, too foolish to relate ; 
Impulsive thoughts that vain ambition feed, 

A grim satire 

On noble Life's desire. 

Truth, considerate of his tender age, 
Bade him again to claim his heritage. 
His Sonship to th' one Omnipotent Life; 

Passion subdue 

And to himself be true. 

That Health and Strength would follow 

Chastity. 
And Love entreated, **I will fast with thee." 
And Love's entreaty was not made in vain — 
Youth's eyes grew bright. 
And shone with heav'nly hght. 

How strange, thought Youth, how strange and 

yet how true. 
This dear old friend that comes to me anew, 
With songs of gladness making bright the day 

With miles and miles 

Of Life's radiant smiles. 

8i 



And Youth grew happy with his new-found 

friend, 
And, as a Sir Knight in an old legend, 
Bore love and romance wherever he went. 
Hail, joyous Youth, 
And friends, Life, Love, and Truth. 

And Health and Strength ne'er forsook him 

a day, 
For to Life and Love and Truth he would pray. 
And for blessings to him constantly shown. 
Gratitude voiced 
And silently rejoiced. 

Thus Youth traveled onward, joyous with song 
Throughout the whole day, 'till dusk came 

along, 
And threw o'er his pathway beside a steep hill 

What would appear 

A deep shadow of fear. 

Youth in bewilderment lost sight of Love ; 
The cry of the nighthawk rose from above. 
And as the gray darkness gave way to grim black 

Love sent the Moon 

To penetrate the gloom. 

In the deep stillness a spectre arose — 
*T was Sleep ; and straightway tired Youth he 
chose ; 

82 



With skill so subtle, with tenderest concern, 
To Youth he said 
*' In my arms make thy bed." 

And Youth found solace with Sleep for a while. 
Pleasurable fancies brought to him a smile; 
Coquettish faces toyed with him in play, 

With strange dances 

And bewitching glances. 

A new Love appeared now to welcome him 
In dazzhng brightness of temptation, Sin, 
So unhke the old Love with noble Grace 

And Purity 

And sweet Security. 

Soon reckless Desire ensnared with dismay. 
Passion urged him onto destruction's way; 
The spell of her eyes, her music of laughter. 

Feigned caresses. 

Enslaved with distresses. 

Sensual pleasures grew irksome at last. 
His new Love became a sorrowful past ; 
Envy ensnared him — Self-pity crept in — 

Blacker the night 

As the Moon hid from sight. 



83 



But Truth, ever constant, spoke as of yore, 
** Arise, and behold new fields to explore." 
Youth, with a shudder, refused to obey. 

Oped not his eyes 

Till Love bade him arise. 

Then in the new light of true Purity 

He beheld the fair face of Charity. 

Then did vain Youth for the first time aspire 

To understand 

What Infinite Life had planned. 



84 



THE STILL SMALL VOICE 

I HEARD a voice within my heart 

That seemed to say, in accents sweet, 

"Love me, or I will soon depart; 
To lose me is to court defeat." 

I wondered what this voice could be, 
This voice I learned to know so well, 

That now and then would speak to me, 
And worldly longings would dispel. 

Ofttimes it came throughout the years. 
And many times it came in vain. 

One day, when burdened with dark fears, 
I chanced to learn its wondrous name. 

When sorrow held me fast in gloom. 

And thoughts played havoc with my youth, 

I cried to it in life's high noon, 

And heard the answer: "I am Truth." 



85 I 

■ i 



THE OLD, OLD STORY 

Long years ago, a man did sing a song 
Into the ears of one for whom I mourn. 
She heard the wondrous story that he told, 
A tale so tender, yet withal so bold, 
Her gentle nature shrank, yet bade him stay 
To hear again the words he sang that day. 

With magic skill he sang his song once more; 
Tenderly, passionately as before; 
He drew her closer in his warm embrace, 
His lips sought hers he kissed her upturned 

face. 
And then — well, 'tis the reason why I may 
Sing the same love song that he sang that day. 



86 



EILEEN 

She came to me, it seemed, from heaven, 

When I was six, or maybe seven, 

A tiny thing vv^ith golden curls, 

And clear blue eyes like deep-sea pearls — 

The most beloved of all the girls. 

She laughed her w^ay into my heart. 
This little girl, so cute, so smart; 
An innocence that now concealed 
A power later years revealed, 
That oft in infancy appealed. 

With boyish pride I watched her grow 
To the age of five or six or so, 
And then, well then 'twas always "Ray, 
You must do this, you must I say, 
'Cause Eileen wants it, dear, dear Ray." 

Perhaps a trip with rod and hook 
To the millrace, or to the brook. 
Where to her knees she'd wade and play. 
Then teasingly would cry, "Oh, Ray, 
Hurry or I'll be washed away! " 



87 



And then upon my back she'd crawl, 
And pull my hair, and bid me fall, 
And scream when I pretended to, 
And slap my cheek — because I'd do 
Just what she always asked me to. 

Sometimes I'd scold her just for fun, 
And if she thought she'd hurt me some 
The smile would vanish from her face. 
Her hand would seek my hand's embrace, 
And sympathy would flush her face. 

Thus I remember her, dear child — 
Playful, serious, roguish, wild; 
Ever ready to mischief brew. 
Yet always gentle, always true, 
A winning way that soon won you. 

'Twas but a step from boy of ten 
To the age of sixteen, and then 
The fleeting years sped faster still; 
School days and their studies instilled 
New ambitions to be fulfilled. 

The years sped on, school days were o'er. 
Life marked my age at twenty-four. 
And early manhood untried, untrue, 
And passions that one would subdue 
My nobler senses tried to woo. 

88 



The untamed spirit of unrest 
Bred discontent within my breast, 
And all those happy days of yore, 
Days the heart oft hungered for. 
Returned to pain me more and more. 

I marked the interval that lay 
Between the old life and that day: 
What I had dreamed, what I had done, 
How much was lost, how Httle won, 
How life ebbed with the setting sun. 

I travelled far to distant lands 

To satisfy each whim's commands; 

At last to find naught else to do 

But homeward sail — perchance to woo 

A girl long years ago I knew. 

The sun poured down its golden rays, 
The ocean danced, the distant haze 
Gave way, and then home land appeared, 
And, ghding onward, soon we neared 
Our native shores by love endeared. 

'Twas joy to see again that home; 
And yet what peace to be alone — 
To seek the meadows where we played, 
The old hillside within whose shade 
My boyhood vows to her I made. 

89 



To tread the ground where oft I trod, 
Where she followed with fishing-rod, 
Beating the briars from her dress, 
Or stooping perchance to caress 
A flower crushed in eagerness. 

To see again the commons where 
I tossed the ball high in the air, 
And strove with boyish pride and might 
The leather sphere, for her delight, 
To catch upon its downward flight. 

Late afternoons to hurry hence 
To sit upon that battered fence 
And watch the kite, a birdlike thing, 
Soar skyward with two bolts of string 
And Eileen holding fast the ring. 

To watch the sunlight 'pon the trees 

Flit playfully amid the leaves. 

To breathe again the perfumed air 

Of lilac trees, a giant pair 

That grew beneath her window there. 

The gabled roof, the trellised vines, 
The porch half-hidden by two great pines, 
The broad expanse of sloping lawn — 
Where oft I played throughout the morn — 
Beloved home where she was born. 



90 



I dreamed I heard her merry talk 

As up the garden path I walked; 

I hesitated on the way — 

*' How to greet her — what would she say?" 

Each second seemed an hour's delay. 

With stubborn will I whipped despair. 
A second more and I was there, 
And then my steps were swiftly stayed — 
Upon that porch where oft we played 
A vision rose — a lovely maid. 

I looked, I saw, I disbelieved; 
Dreamed I or were my eyes deceived — 
Where had I seen such girlish grace, 
That smile which time could not displace? 
It surely was dear Eileen's face. 

Her eyes searched mine with eager quest; 
One look, one word, and in my breast 
A love was born — a love had fled, 
The love of boyhood days was dead, 
Something unknown had come instead. 

She seemed to see, with one swift glance, 
My soul upon my countenance; 
She gave to me her hand, and when 
She looked into my eyes — ah, then 
I saw the light of heav'n again. 



91 



GREETINGS 

*TlS "Good morning" to the friend we meet 
When the day is young, when life is sweet. 

"Good day," to him in the noon of life. 
In the zenith of this great world's strife. 

"Good afternoon," when the hours speed 
Into the evening we little heed. 

"Good evening," when the day has fled, 
When existence hangs upon a thread. 

And then "Good night," just a stifled sigh, 
A sad, faint smile, and the last "good-bye." 



92 



GLADSOME YESTERDAYS 

How often in the stillness of the night, 
When restless thoughts the weary one would 

rob 
Of pleasures that prospective life still holds, 
When with much thinking, aching temples 

throb 
And all that once seemed good lies ship- 
wrecked in 
A mighty flood of bitter tears and woe — 
How often then from out the hidden depths 
There breathes the spirit of the long ago. 
Recalling days when faith in good was kept. 
When virtue ne'er into the mire stepped, 
But, jubilant with youthful pleasures, trod 
The pathways fragrant with the breath of God. 

The room where once you said your nightly 

prayers. 
Where maternal hands with much tenderness 
Smoothed the tousled hair from your heated 

brow. 
And lingered fondly for one last caress. 
When all was still, how oft, with closed eyes 



93 



That sleep would feign, you heard her noise- 
less tread, 
And in the light that flickered soft and low 
Felt those kind hands arrange the crumpled 

spread. 
And cuddling close within the darkened room, 
Devoid of thoughts that later life distress, 
Peacefully to slumber until the dawn 
Your dreamy eyes awakened from sweet rest. 

And in those later days of boyhood, when 
She was relieved of duties and home cares, 
When evening came and ofiF to bed you must, 
How boisterously you bounded up the stairs. 
And lying there, with coverlet tucked in. 
Tugging with the spread pulled up to your 

chin, 
Perhaps to dream of great tales you had read: 
Of Bluebeard, or of Cogia Houssain, 
Who, masking as a friend, Ali Baba 
And his noble son surely would have slain. 
Nights when the April rain, with steady beat 
Drummed hard upon the tin roof overhead; 
How well you loved to listen to the noise 
While idle thoughts away with Morpheus sped. 
Or when the August moon with subtle grace 
Through the half ope'd shutters thrust its 

bright face, 

94 



Painting the matting with its golden light, 
What dreams you nourished in its transient 

flight, 
When wakeful ears, alert to every sound, 
Discerned the distant barking of a hound. 
Breathlessly to steal 'cross the creaking floor 
With timid hands to bolt safely the door, 
And in increased security to partake 
Of youthful pleasures that such hours awake. 

Out of the night to see myriad eyes 
Rising to greet thy faithful countenance, 
Whisp'ring tidings of yet happier days 
Than fiction ever pictured love's romance. 
Within the vision of some noble deed 
You dreamed of then your boyhood thoughts 

would feed. 
And standing there within the soothing light, 
Holding communion in the hallowed night. 
How peaceful grew your spirit in the calm, 
Soothed to rest by some grand nocturnal psalm. 

There below, where a few hours since you 

played. 
The darkened street, so breathless, seemed 

dismayed. 
Upon the crossing, destitute of life. 



95 



A grotesque sentinel, in subdued light, 
Stood the same pump which creaked through- 
out the day. 
Stricken dumb by the magic spell of night. 
Far beyond the vast receding housetops, 
Hidden then from view, the broad country lay, 
A mysterious land as seen by night, 
Though oft you tramped its well-known fields 
by day. 

And as you dream of all those happy hours, 
Rich with a wealth of sacred memories, 
How idle seem the bitter tears you shed. 
How blest your life with gladsome yesterdays. 



96 



1 

THE SOUL'S AWAKENING i 

j 

When Autumn's flood-gates, open wide, | 

Make way for strong emotions' tide, 1 

Sweeping the country, low and high, i 

With bitter tears and winds that sigh; 1 

Moaning through leafless trees that stand j 

Denuded of Earth's garments grand, 'i 

And when the frost upon the sod i 

In its devastation has robbed ; 

Every flower of its bloom — j 

I stop to think of mortals' doom. ! 

Is it thus our day will end ? j 

Or that we may apprehend, 

By the winter months to come, i 

That our journey's not yet done; 1 

Only resting through the night, 

To awake and find the light, \ 

That this warning is sent now? j 

Yes, my soul, it is that thou, 1 

When awakened with the Spring i 

May again thy praises sing. 



97 



LE PRINTEMPS 

To THEE, to thee, O glorious Spring, 
Whose transcendent beauty I drink in, 
With ecstasy thy praise I sing. 
And hear the echoes as they bring 
My praises back to thee, O Spring. 

To thee, to thee, thou child of today, 
Born unto earth this early May day, 
To sorrow still and grief allay. 
With new-born hopes and dreams today, 
All bitter thoughts to turn away. 

With adolescent pleasures dost fill, 
And yet with deeper feelings instill 
My rapturous soul; for, tranquil 
As the clouds that sleep o'er the hill, 
I feel life peaceful, restful, still. 

Like minor chords, thy sweet melodies 
Are blended with pleasant memories 
Of other days; a euphony 
Awakened in the sanctity 
Of this new life born unto me. 



98 



Before me lies the river, calm, blue, 
In each breath a kiss, that speaks of you 
With moistened lips; reflected too 
The sky within its deep, deep blue 
Wears a softer, a richer hue. 

The forest whispers, while here I stand, 
Thy eulogies; and over the land, 
In one long voiced acclaim, a band 
Of merry songsters, all command 
Attention; while on every hand 

Efflorescent trees and budding vine. 
The redolent air and warm sunshine, 
Humble daisies that interline 
The earth's green canopy, combine 
To adorn lavish Nature's shrine. 



99 



A SUMMER DAY 

To LIE within the shade of some old tree, 
To watch the sunbeams, far and near to thee, 
O'erspread with golden canopy each field and 

hill; 
To feel pulsating, throbbing life grow peaceful 

still, 
And there alone commune with Nature and 

thy God. 

To hear no sound except the faintest note, 
A whispered prayer perchance, from the throat 
Of some secluded songster in a far-off tree. 
Who, with songs of gratitude on his lips, like 

thee 
Worships all that makes this life so beloved 

to him. 

To feel the breeze that now and then above, 
Amid the dense green foliage, sigh its love, 
Steal gently o'er thy slumbers, mingle with 

thy hair, 
Kiss thy brow and upturned face, and upon 

the air. 
Ere thydreamyeyes are ope'd, swiftly disappear. 



ICX) 



To watch the placid stream peacefully course 
Its sinuous way, until it is lost 
Within the shady depths of yonder forest glade; 
And then in fancy travel onward, or let fade 
Its memory in the birth of other visions. 

In thoughts that wing their way to clouds 

that rest 
High in the heavens, o'er the mountain's 

crest, 
And there to people, from thy bewildering 

height, 
The earth and universe with unrestrained 

dehght, 
And dream — at peace with self, with heaven 

and earth, and man. 



lOI 



HOPE 

Oh, speak to me, thou winsome voice 

That ever and anon I hear; 
Oh, speak to me, and cheer me now — 

I long to feel thy presence near. 

Thou bring'st to me a sense of joy- 
That turns my thoughts to nobler things, 

A more exalted view of life 

That to my inmost being sings. 

Raising mine eyes above the mud 
To outstretched heavens overhead. 

And all creation seems anew 
A resurrection from the dead. 



102 



A VACATION REVERIE 

I AWAKE, 'tis morning; a flood of light 
Through the dark latticed windows streams 

so bright 
That I, half dreaming still, quickly arise, 
Bewildered at what these low moaning cries 
I hear can mean. I look about me '' Strange," 
Think I, "the room and all that it contains 
I've never seen, and yet" — I laugh outright 
In recollecting all. It was last night, 
Arriving here late, wearied and worn out 
(Regardless of everything about) 
I threw myself upon the bed, where sleep 
A prisoner in fair dreamland did keep 
Me so safely guarded. And now released, 
Refreshed with new vigor, ''Behold the feast 
That awaits thine eyes," says a voice without. 
Opening the bHnd, with a merry shout 
I greet a fair songster that takes his flight, 
Leaving me alone, entranced with delight. 
Below lies the river, from which the mist 
Rises heavenward to meet the soft kiss 
Of the morning sun. Just southward, ahead 



103 



Of yonder strong dam, a turbulent bed 
Of white foamy billows speed madly on, 
While the old mill, forsaken and forlorn. 
Stands silently by. Then turning my gaze 
Far to the east through the vanishing haze 
I see great stretches of farmlands and roads 
Leading to towns with their many abodes. 
While away to the north, rising so high, 
Forest-covered bluffs against the pale sky 
Look Hke great giants of fairy-tale fame, 
Risen from their tombs to new Hfe again; 
Their sonorous voices my keen ears hear 
With wonderment, mingled with childlike fear. 
Such as I felt when on grandmother's knee 
I sat and listened, amazed at what she 
Must have beheld in those days of the past 
When knights were valiant — red blood ran fast. 

While fancies like these swiftly come and go 
(Upon the tide of thought), I see below 
The river, sparkling now, fully aglow 
With the sun's bright rays, that bring to mine 

eyes 
A bewildering sense. I think of skies 
I've seen crowded with stars, and looking down 
Fancy into those bright depths must have blown 
That effulgent host — while I stood alone. 



104 



AN OLD ROMANCE 

A YOUTH whose life, in folly spent, 

Now left him in despair, 
His weary heart with sorrow rent, 

Which time would not repair. 

More restless grew he day by day. 
Until, all wrapt in gloom, 

He longed for death to take away 
From him this sadness soon. 

So morning into evening turned; 

Night followed on its course; 
And still the life within him burned, 

Fanned by its own remorse. 

But soon, ah, soon the day was near 
Upon which hung his fate. 

Which made life still to him so dear, 
To cherish for love's sake. 

It was one night in early June, 
'Midst everything so fair. 

That love to him did come so soon. 
Before he was aware. 

105 



So strong a light the moon's gold ray 

Did shed upon the scene, 
The brook itself in rapture lay 

Sparkling beneath its gleam. 

Bright stars grew pale within the sky, 
Yet sparkled now and then. 

As if in longing to defy 
This fairer one of them. 

Upon the air a mellow strain 

Of music soft he heard, 
Which fell not on bis ears in vain — 

He cherished every word. 

A voice so soft and rich in tone 

Her soul expression gave. 
And on her face a smile there shone 

Like moonbeams on a wave. 

Such calmness, yet such sadness, too. 
Her dainty features blessed, 

The reflection seen was so true 
He ne'er before witnessed. 

His hungry soul, as it drank in 
One long deep draught from hers, 

Relieved the heart that long within 
Was bleeding from life's burrs. 

1 06 



And then he dreamed of years gone by, 

When childlike love and trust 
Made earth one brilliant, sparkling sky, 

As youth paints it for us. 

But as the song came to an end 

His joy to sadness turned; 
And to his saddened heart did send 

A thrill which there long burned. 

And yet he lingered till the night 

Had ebbed itself away, 
Leaving behind upon its flight 

Only sweet memory. 

But as he turned his steps away, 

There vanished all despair, 
For in his heart a new hope lay 

That ne'er before was there. 

Upon the wings of time the spring 
And summer, too, had passed. 

When lo! two hearts with love trembling, 
In fond embrace were clasped. 



107 



THE MASTER 

Across the field I saw the master come, 
With measured step that no obstruction knew, 
With shoulders bent and eyes fixed straight 

ahead, 
A massive frame of bone and strong sinew. 
He seemed so like a humanized machine 
It made me stop and look with speechless awe. 
And gaze again and shudder, as I thought 
How strangely wrought, this mighty thing I 

saw. 

I watched him as he plowed throughout the 

day, 
A subservient slave to his own will — 
The straight line broad'ning with the up- 
turned earth, 
A huge blot spreading to a distant hill. 
I thought how strangely out of place he was, 
This warrior, born oddly out of time — 
What valiant deeds this giant could have done 
Had he but lived when knights were in their 
prime. 



io8 



There swept o'er me a sense of sympathy, 
I thought to gain his good will and respect; 
He seemed a man whose hope in life was gone, 
His thoughts turned acid by the world's neg- 
lect ; 
I bade him a good eve'ning on his way — 
His look of cold indifference, disdain, 
Cut like a thrust of cold steel at my heart 
And left me feeling my good thoughts were 
vain. 



109 



MOTHER LOVE 

The cold wind sighed, the breakers roared, 

Upon one dreary night, 
And from above the raindrops poured 

With maddening delight. 

But there she stood upon the pier, 

A mother, all alone, 
With straining nerves to see or hear 

Her boy — her own loved one. 

Hope rose and fell within her breast 

As did the surging sea; 
At intervals, a moment's rest, 

Then death's grim certainty 

With overpowering awe seemed near, 

As some black tow'ring wave 
With fiendish madness cast its fear 

Upon a heart so brave. 

As if to mock her in her grief 

They'd dash upon the pier, 
Then in the darkness Hke some thief, 

To hide some shame or fear. 



no 



Retreat with those that'd gone before, 

In search of other gain, 
Or on some brighter, calmer shore 
With peace once more to reign. 

Yet, heedless of the black, grim night. 

Its cold and bitter sting. 
The mist and spray blinding her sight, 

That left her shivering, 

Her thoughts were only for her boy; 

"O God, is he safe, or" — 
A mother's cry was lost in joy, 

He answered her once more. 



Ill 



RECLAIMED 

Alone, alone, with naught but self to break 
the silence; 

The mocking hours drag slowly into the depths 
of night. 

Alone, still alone, the weary, drooping, sleep- 
less eyes 

Hang heavy, while a stricken soul makes its last 
great fight. 

Weary, weary, struggling with the passion it 

would slay, 
A twitching of the nostrils and a low stifled 

sigh; 
Weary, so weary, the burning forehead, 

stabbed with pain. 
Buries itself within his arms with a stifled 

cry. 

Forgotten by the very world he once thought 

his friend, 
It needs him now no longer, nor does he wish 

its aid. 



112 



Forgotten — and what of it? — one solace still 

remains 
(Solace of weary mortals): his debt will soon 

be paid. 

Silence, silence, not a sound to disturb his 
breathing, 

Save the prowling wind and a distant rev- 
eller's tread. 

Silence, silence, the midnight hours are fast 
receding. 

Another day is dawning — for the man who is 
dead. 



113 



MEDITATION 

In the solitude of my chamber, the embers 

burning low, 
And the lamplight growing pale with the 

approach of morning's glow, 
Alone with my troubled spirit, that will never, 

never rest, 
I ponder life's complex problems, how to serve 

that spirit best. 
I dream of our many martyrs — of the early 

Christian race, 
Of Jesus their great exemplar, whose life all 

time will embrace, 
Of Paul, of Pontius Pilate, of Nero, Daniel, 

and Cain, 
Of loyalty, intrigue, hypocrisy, bravery, and 

shame — 
Each has spoken to me this hour, and with 

the approaching day 
The spirit of night still Hngers — will it always 

be this way? 
Must the soul struggle Windly onward, battle 

with the untrue; 



114 



With thoughts that are born in a second, that 

years cannot subdue? 
Why come they to harrass one's being — chain 

one to grim despair, 
When Hfe could be as unburdened, as unfet- 
tered, as the air? 
And why this groping in darkness, this striving 

for heights unknown, 
This mingling of pain with pleasure, this 

something we would disown ? 
Ah, there's the question to ponder — this 

something we cannot still. 
This voice of our inner being that mortal 

senses would kill. 
O spirit of cherished wisdom inherent in every 

breast. 
Pray give us the understanding to comprehend 

this unrest; 
To know that Soul is the savior — the light 

that directs the way. 
That leads us ever onward, and at last turns 

night into day. 



"5 



AN ANALOGY 

A SPARROW flew into my room; then beat 

against the pane 
That stoutly barred its passage to the world 

from whence it came. 
It tried to gain its freedom, though always the 

wrong way; 
When at last it found 'twas useless, it gave up 

in dismay. 

'Twas now my opportunity to come to its 
relief, 

I stole upon it unawares, more wary than a 
thief; 

And when at last I captured this poor rebel- 
lious thing 

It cried with panting energy and beat me with 
its wing. 

Very soon it had its freedom, the joy which 

it did crave, 
And given by the hand of one it must have 

thought a knave. — 



ii6 



'Tis often thus with human hearts battling 
with sore distress: 

When at last they have surrendered, content- 
ment comes to bless. 



AT CLOSE OF DAY 

Within the twilight of the evening hour, 
In the farewell hush of reluctant day. 
I watched the grandeur in the western sky 
Flood the sombre earth ere it passed away; 
Sweet thoughts of peace and love it left behind 
And made me grateful for each earthly thing; 
A gratitude that made my eyes grow dim 
With thankfulness for the joy of living. 



117 



THE OUTCAST 

You ask me who this is — this face 

That frowns within this battered frame. 

You wonder why I give it place, 
And jestingly you ask his name. 

To you its value is but trash, 
Waste paper and a bit of pine; 

It wouldn't bring one penny cash — 
And yet, thank God, it is all mine. 

You do not smile — I thought you would; 

The jest lies on your lips unheard! 
Waste paper and a bit of wood — 

Who dares to mock him with a word? 

Your hand, my friend, your pardon too — 
Our jests are ofttimes turned to tears, 

But may they never bring to you 

The pain I've hidden all these years. 

He whom you see within that frame 
An outcast in this world was he; 

Maligned and slandered was his name, 
And yet — he gave his life for me. 



THE GREATER WRONG 

Ten paces are counted — they take their stand, 
Each clutching his pistol firmly in hand; 
On one side defiance, the other scorn; 
And in black contrast to this peaceful morn 
The spectre Death — to expiate the sin 
The one thinks the other has done to him. 

A second more the signal is given; 

A crash — and justice is left to heaven. 

The one who vv^as w^ronged now stands there 

avenged, 
Victorious over the one condemned. 
But the blood which he shed this early morn 
Is recorded on high the greater wrong. 



119 



A SUGGESTION 

When life becomes prosaic, 

And things do not seem just right, 
You think there is no justice, 

That the world is ruled by might, 
And you envy your neighbors, 

'Cause they're happier than you — 
Then walk into the open 

Where the sky smiles down so blue, 
Where the air is pure and wholesome, 

And the great world stretches forth, 
Revealing many wonders 

To the east, west, south, and north 
And turn your footsteps bravely 

To some field or distant place, 
Where Nature's smiles are sweeter 

And all her creatures embrace. 
Bathe in the joy of freedom, 

In the sunshine of content. 
Join in the songs of gladness. 

And life will grow affluent. 
List' to the song of robin, 

The catbird, or ceaseless note 

120 



Of the much-maligned sparrow — 
Joy gushes from every throat. 

They bear no ill toward mankind 
Their most unrelenting foe; 

Their melodies are inspired 

With the love our hearts should know. 



121 



REGRETS 

If life were but the outcome 

Of a passion free from sin, 
Oh, what a glorious blessing, 

Oh, what a noble thing. 
Would be this love we cherish 

Of which the poets sing. 
The songs our hearts are charmed with, 

That inspirations bring, 
Yet in sorrow find their ending, 

Because of this one thing 
Heaven has denied us — 

A love that's free from sin. 



122 



THE VANISHING RACE 

All day I travelled 'cross the desert plains, 
And not a sign of reptile, man, or beast; 
The wild sage-brush and cactus dusty gray— 
But blemishes upon the faded way. 

All day the sun its torrid heat poured down 
And burned the powdered alkali gray-white; 
Only the shadows from the distant hill 
Bespoke of hopes that nightfall would fulfill. 

All day I held fast to determined thought, 
Yet craving to behold some living thing; 
When lo, a tiny blot far to the east 
Spread slowly, silently, to man and beast. 

A blaze of red his shoulder blanket made 
Against the strong hght that enveloped him, 
A vivid picture for this barren waste 
Where once broad rivers seem but dried up 
paste. 

I watched him as he slowly came my way. 
This battered remnant of a once proud clan, 



123 



His coarse black hair and copper-colored skin 
And high cheek bones like molten bronze 
worn thin. 

His bony nag, a poor neglected thing, 
Fulfilled the picture that his rider made — 
It dragged along, not even at a jog, 
Its head bent low, cowed like a beaten dog. 

Is this the race our brave forefathers fought 
That made them battle every foot of way, 
That left their dead from ocean's shore to shore 
And only ceased when warriors were no more ? 

Proud ancestry, where flows thy rich red blood ? 
A taint has stolen through thy sluggish veins 
And left a weakling where a once strong heart 
Made thy eyes to glow and thy frame stalwart. 

Amid the verdant hills no more is seen 
Thy tepees nor the camp-fire's festive glow, 
The gushing streams and placid lakes unstir'd 
By thy canoes — thy challenge is unheard. 

Upon the grassy plains, where oft thy tribes 
Pursued the frenzied, fleeing bison herds. 
Or shot the prowling wolf upon its way. 
Adventure and romance he hushed today. 



124 



The spirit of thy times is hidden in the past, 
Thy happy hunting ground a faded joy; 
The bones of man and beast, one common foe, 
Upon whose dust the winds of progress blow. 

I can but feel thy sadness in my heart, 
And yet rejoice because of mine own race: 
In seeing thee I have my recompense, 
And journey on with grateful reverence. 



125 



THE PUNISHMENT 

Many the faces we meet on life's highroad, 
Many the places where we make our abode, 
Many the pleasures we so gladly share in, 
Though many may be good yet many with sin 
Leave their sad traces upon features grown 
thin. 

So oftentimes we find, when the end draws 

near, 
That hearts though grown hard with many a 

long year 
Break with their own coldness when mem'ry 

steals in 
And shows them the evil which good might 

have been 
If this life had been lived in conquering sin. 



126 



A FANTASY 

I STOOD upon a mountain's side 
Gazing across the sea, 
Thoughts rose unto my lips and cried: 
**Oh, veiled, unseen future, 
My soul is crying unto thee. 
What holdest thou? — mine eyes would 
see." 

Swiftly my strange words sped away. 

Swiftly returned again; 

A ghosthke echo seemed to say. 

In accents soft and strange: 

"What does the future hold for thee — 

What does the future hold for thee?" 

And then a deadly silence fell, 

I questioned what it meant; 

I heard my eager lips rebel: 

'* Speak! unseen presence. Speak! 

Lift from my eyes this mystic veil. 

That I the morning dawn may hail. 



127 



**Or else let me behold the night, 
If night it be instead; 
And I will follow, though the fight 
Lead through some dark abyss. 
Beyond the very depths of hell, 
If thou will but thy secret tell." 

I listened long; the voice replied 
Again — in accents low 
This time — and mournfully it sighed: 
"Morning's dawn — dark abyss — 
Beyond the very depths of hell — 
If thou will but thy secret tell." 

"Speak not in syllables that taunt. 
But speak that I may know 
What slumbers in this quiet haunt 
Where thou dost ruler reign 
Throughout life, until death, supreme. 
Beneath those silent robes unseen. 

"That I may hear and thee obey, 

Mysterious voice of life. 

Dost thou not say *'Tis well?' — I pray 

Do I hear thee aright? 

What? — Silence! Why, I am alone, 

And thou, deceptor, where art gone? 

128 



"To thy abode from whence thou came, 

To some dark hidden realm? 

And as I plead to know thy name 

The wind wafts back thy sigh, 

And whispers softly in my ear 

'The day is spent — the night is near.' " 



1 20 



A DESIRE 

In idle dreams thoughts delve again 

In fancies that pressage yet idler hours ; 

Oh, if we could but know ourselves 

To be possessed of infinite powers; 

To rise above the common things, 

To heights where dwell the nobler thoughts 

we pen, 
There to behold with new-born faith 
The greater strength of those that we call 

men. 



130 



INDIAN SUMMER DAYS 

The leaves lie seared upon the ground, No- 
vember days are here, 

The long bleak nights and short gray days 
foretell of winter near; 

The woods, denuded of their garbs, hke battle- 
fields are rent, 

The blackened trees .with lifeless limbs seem 
mournfully silent ; 

The birds have gone to warmer climes, the 
few that still remain 

Hide their sad heads beneath their wings to 
shield from cold and rain. 

The frost has thawed into a dew, a bright 

warm sun looks down, 
A mellow hght spreads o'er the gloom and dis- 
sipates earth's frown; 
And then, through some bewitchery, there 

steals into the air 
A balmy haze, a sun-kissed breeze, and things 

grow wondrous fair. 
June days have come to bless again, the spirit 

of lost Spring 

131 



Seems tripping o'er the earth with joy and 
cheers each Hving thing. 

The childen romp upon the streets, the organ- 
grinders play, 

Even the dumb brutes feel the thrill, poor tired 
horses neigh ; 

The faded hopes of yesterday all wear roseate 
hues — 

There's something in the golden light that 
weary senses soothes. 

The blackbirds hop with heads erect, their 
wings are lustrous bright, 

It seems as if their feathered coats were pol- 
ished over night. 

The boys have built a great wood fire, whose 

smoke streams to the sky, 
The flames leap forth and gather strength as 

darkness hovers nigh; 
Within the glowing, cheerful light are faces 

bright, intent — 
They labored hard to gather wood, and now 

are quite content. 
Adventures, tales of redskins bold, excitedly 

are told — 
Perhaps in these dark woods near by some 

Indian chief lies cold. 



132 



And when the smold'ring fire dies, darkness 

again prevails, 
The pale moon, struggling through a cloud, 

the depth of night assails. 
Children no longer romp in play, the boys are 

home in bed, 
Perhaps to dream of tales they heard, of great 

Powhatan dead, 
How Captain John Smith's life was spared, of 

Pocahontas' fame — 
Bewitching Indian Summer days, from year 

to year the same. 



133 



DAN GRAY, FISHERMAN 

A GREAT wide stretch of sandy beach, on 
which the waters roll, 

Then glide again into the deep, after they hit 
the shoal; 

Amid the swishing, roaring noise, restless 
through night and day. 

Upon a cliff just back from shore lives fisher- 
man Dan Gray. 

His face is seared by many suns, calloused by 

winds and rains; 
His eyes deep set, blue as the sea, a smile that 

never wanes. 
At break of dawn he sets his sail, heaves out 

into the sea, 
A song he sings ere he departs — a right brave 

man is he. 

His nets lie stretched upon the sands, the sun 

has baked them dry; 
The mended ones are now rolled up, dragged 

to a boat near by. 



134 



Ere nightfall comes he'll furl his sails, cast 

anchor in the bay, 
Then climb the clifi to home and wife, and 

where the children play. 

Few vices has this fisherman — he chews his 

daily cud. 
His pipe is most abom'nable, his shirt needs 

plain soapsuds. 
Yet with it all he is a man — his rightful place 

is here; 
He takes what life bestows on him, content 

from year to year. 



135 



STONY CREEK 

Along the banks of Stony Creek, beyond the 
noisy dam, 

Where oft we fished throughout the day, 
where many times we swam, 

Where water-HHes made their beds, and spiral 
grass grew rank, 

I tread my way again, knee deep — a much- 
loved boyish prank. 

I pluck again a blade of grass, as sharp as any 

sword, 
And try its edge as I did then, as proud as any 

lord; 
I cast my line within the stream, and see my 

worm-bait sink, 
And sit with knees up to my chin, perched 

there upon the brink. 

I see again the golden days rise from the realm 

of time 
And cast its youthful spell o'er me, in glowing 

warmth sublime; 



136 



I watch a noisy bumblebee buzz aimlessly 

around. 
And tease a clumsy, flabby toad that squats 

upon the ground. 

I find an old familiar spot, upon a gnarled 

oak-root ; 
I feel the tender, soothing grass, a soft balm 

underfoot ; 
And as I gaze across the field, upon a far 

incline 
I see the cattle browsing in a glow of warm 

sunshine. 

I think of all the boyhood days enjoyed be- 
neath these trees. 

Of happiness that lives again, brought back 
with every breeze; 

And years of toil and years of pain are naught 
within its spell 

But phantoms of a dreamy past that boyhood 
days dispel. 



137 



A DECEMBER MORNING 

The frost is on the window panes, the snow 

lies deep outdoor, 
Some scattered flakes have found their way 

onto the kitchen floor; 
A path lies straight out to the gate, piled high 

on either side, 
A great white blanket sparkHng bright hides 

all the country wide. 
The trees no more stand stark and cold, they 

wear an ermine gown. 
Marvellous nature has spun well its fleecy 

jewelled down. 
The birds now seek the shovelled path for 

bread crumbs scattered there, 
They riot in their bold attack upon the 

morning's fare. 
I open scant the kitchen door, then hurry to 

the shed. 
Old Towser gives a joyful bark — he knows 

he'll soon be fed. 

The cofiFee steams upon the stove, its fra- 
grance fills the room, 



138 



There's something cheery in its scent that 

banishes all gloom. 
Across the barren kitchen floor the morning's 

sunlight streams, 
Within its warm enticing rays old Towse* 

enjoys his dreams. 
I labor up the attic stairs, a very creaky flight. 
And drag a bulky fur topcoat up to the win- 
dow's light; 
The great white hills, like mountains tall, are 

seen through obscure panes; 
The country is a vast white sheet, devoid of 

roads and lanes. 
A voice calls from the floor below — I know 

its meaning well — 
I scurry down the narrow stairs: loud rings 

the breakfast bell. 



139 



VOICES OF THE PAST 

I TALKED to thee of feelings strangely wrought 
With many pangs; of bitter griefs I fought; 
Of barren fields of melancholy waste, 
Thick with the tares and stubbles of old days, 
Where sluggish streams the air contaminate 
And make the present seem all desolate. 

Alone with folly once again I tread 

In that grim cemetery of the dead, 

And hold communion with the buried past 

And read the epitaphs from first to last. 

Upon this one, the words, with age defaced, 
Tell of that time which now is half erased 
From memory; of blessed joys and tears. 
That somehow in the thought of later years 
Suggest to one those first hopes laid to rest, 
Forgotten, but of all life's gifts the best. 

Old thoughts awake. I see before mine eyes 
Visions of days as varied as the skies: 
The many hues are blended into one. 
And dim the eyes like gazing at the sun. 



40 



Bewildering Youth! age so richly blessed, 
So swiftly fled — with bruised hearts oft left, 
Thy inconsistent life o'erwhelms me now: 
In nourishing that which satisfied pride, 
In fostering thoughts that noble deeds deride; 
Creating phantoms out of which to woo 
Idle fancies that age soon proves untrue. 
Grand but varied life; sad to contemplate, 
Because of deeds that prove inadequate. 
Oft bows my head with sadness and remorse. 
And sighs with longings for my soul's great 



l'envoi 

Why gather weeds from the garden of life; 
Why seek to quarrel, ever nourish strife; 
Why look to earth when heaven hangs o'er- 

head; 
Why speak of those things past which now 

are dead. 
'Tis now high noon — this is the mighty hour 
In which man proves his weakness or his 

power. 



141 



PRESS OF 
FREDERICK C. BROWNE 



T«issS 



018 6022440 



